


Off-Kilter

by BosieJan



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Angst, Eventual Smut, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-11
Updated: 2015-11-17
Packaged: 2018-04-25 19:59:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4974106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BosieJan/pseuds/BosieJan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin spends his days training new recruits, supervising the Tech department, and tolerating Harry's sudden influx of self-doubt. Kingsman agents are as human as any man but when they start to age, they begin to not only doubt their skills, but also to crumble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Boxing

**Author's Note:**

> I really don't know how to explain the why's of starting to write Kingsman fic, but it's definitely got something to do with beautiful gentlemen in positions of power, over the age of forty-five.

If Harry Hart had anything to say about it, training Eggsy in hand-to-hand combat would have been saved for _himself,_ thank you very much. As it was, Merlin had far too much in his hands when it came to training the final three recruits, and Harry would have eagerly agreed to take Eggsy on as his personal mission.

 

At least until Eggsy was as skilled as Harry himself.

 

Which, incidentally, was as skilled as Merlin, though Harry resolutely refused to admit it in certain company. Five years Merlin’s senior when it came to being a Kingsman member, Harry had been trained by the previous Galahad, as had Merlin. Hired for the job of tech specialist, trainer, and what Merlin liked to refer to as ‘babysitter’, Merlin was trained nearly one hundred percent towards becoming a Kingsman agent, but he had instead chosen to remain in the tech department, and to be the organization’s ‘magician’ in the end. The pay was still outrageous, the insurance plan phenomenal, and Merlin still had a better handle on technical elements, rather than actual espionage.

 

To say that Merlin was _just_ a trainer and lesser than a true Kingsman agent, was akin to folly.

 

“No no, Eggsy, throw your back into it!”

 

Merlin growled from the sidelines of the indoor boxing ring; the ropes, gloves, and headgear hiding the fact that it was a learning exercise for secret spies, and not simply a college boxing match. He rolled his eyes and slapped a hand down on the canvas, his teeth bared as he frowned hard enough for it to hurt.

 

“If you strike at Charlie a third time without putting your back into it, I’m coming in there meself to do it right!”

 

The look on Charlie’s face proved the most comical, as he showed what was clearly panic. Eggsy only grinned, and purposely struck out while Charlie was distracted, dropping the larger boy to the floor with a perfectly executed right cross. Charlie bounced on the poorly-suspended canvas and groaned as he lifted a gloved hand to rub at his jaw, dizzy enough to make it look as if he were simply hitting himself in the face rather than soothing his hurt.

 

“There now, you see? That’s the sort of hit I’ve been striving for since we started this last week! What’s been holding you back?”

 

Eggsy shrugged, tugging his gloves off to drink from the water bottle in his corner. He was clearly pleased with himself, but his broad grin faded to a weak smirk as Harry pushed open the gym’s double doors and stepped inside. He was dressed to kill, as per usual, though he was less his umbrella. Eggsy found it almost unkempt of Harry; the umbrella completed the outfit. Merlin was less put-off by the lack of umbrella; it meant Harry was finished for the evening.

 

“And what have we here? Merlin, are you _still_ at this? I was positive that Charlie could at least hold his own in a fight, and Eggsy..what sort of look is that? Smug champions often find themselves at the losing end of things once karma sets in, my boy. You’d do well to wipe that shit-eating smile from your face.”

 

Merlin scowled, but even Eggsy knew there was no real heat in it. “They’re coming along, _Galahad_. Eggsy’s been holding out on me, it seems.His hit was strong enough to knock Charlie down and brain him for a moment, and that was _with_ the gloves.”

 

Harry looked surprised. “Is that so?”

 

Charlie and Eggsy both nodded, sure that they were supposed to answer a Kingsman agent even if they weren’t being directly addressed, especially when it was the agent that so often visited Merlin during the training sessions in situ.

 

“And have they both successfully passed the boxing portion of their training?”

 

Merlin nodded, though he held up a hand when Eggsy pumped a fist in the air with excitement. “However, Eggsy needs to practice his poker face. I could tell--from all the way over here--that he was holding back, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Almost as if he were waiting for praise to be the prize, rather than an A on his report card.”

 

Eggsy’s cheeks coloured slightly, and even Charlie saw it, his face darkening with jealousy. One would have to be blind not to notice the way Harry cherished Eggsy, and the way Merlin praised him during their positive outcomes.

 

“We’re quite done for the evening; Charlie, Eggsy. You’ve both passed _for now_ , but kick boxing and judo come next, and neither of you are prepared for Roxy and her swiftness. Go on, wash up and get to the dormitory. You’re dismissed.”

 

The boys left with another nod of the head and sacrificed the use of the gym to Merlin and Harry, the pair watching them leave and then smiling at each other. It had been a long day for Merlin and a normal one for Harry, so they were both somewhat fatigued but also amped up from the calibre of their jobs.

 

Harry pulled at his tie until it came loose, then lifted it over his head and draped it over one of the chairs near the door. There was a small seating area for spectators but with only three candidates remaining and most of the Kingsman agents afield, there were no spectators to speak of.

 

His jacket came next, then his dress shirt was tugged free from his trousers and left to hang in what was an embarrassingly messy state of dress for someone as proper as Harry. Casual dress was a pair of cotton slacks, a dressing gown, and slippers, but he hardly had those things while at HQ.

 

“This some sort of proposal I’m unaware of, Harry?” Merlin asked conversationally, dropping Harry’s codename as he normally did when left alone with his longtime lover. “I’ve not got all night to give you a refresher course.”

 

Secret or not within the organization--it wasn’t--Merlin hated using code names in private, and due to an accident with amnesia darts during his training nearly thirty years earlier, ‘Merlin’ had become his name for lack of a real one.

 

“Hardly, my dear. I’m only..curious. Have you lapsed any since Galahad once taught us, or have you risen somewhat through your training of the young ones?”

 

“You mean during the day, when I’m babysitting the pups and their tiny handlers? Aye, it’s a shame that we’ve only the three remaining, but paring them down was the point and I’ve done rather well with them all, ta.”

 

Harry chuckled as he removed his glasses, then hoisted himself up into the ring, the boxing gloves left behind by Eggsy slipped onto his slightly-chilled hands. Harry smacked the gloves together hard, the padded leather making a satisfyingly thick thud as it crashed together.

 

“Be a darling and don those gloves of Charlie’s then. I’ve a notion to test that for myself, if you don’t mind.”

 

Merlin snorted gently, but did as he was asked. The gloves fit him as well as Eggsy’s fit Harry, and Merlin clapped them together to likewise hear the slap of fat leather, not wishing to truly hit Harry despite the man’s request. He’d pretend, sure, but neither of them was authorized to compete in actual combat with each other unless it was sanctioned by Arthur for follow-up training.

 

“Lightly, now. I _did_ just return from Chechnya after a lengthy stay. Bruised ribs and a possible concussion long-since healed, but I’m not looking for a repeat performance.”

 

Merlin, in his Instructor’s clothes and sans helmet, made the first blow and it was a doozy.

 

Harry ducked almost immediately, but not immediately enough, as the blow hit him in the jaw and sent him reeling. He recovered with a shake of his head and automatically scowled at Merlin, giving his jaw a tiny rub with one fat hand.

 

“Beg your _pardon_ , Merlin, but did I fucking _stutter_? I said lightly, did I not?”

 

He came after Merlin with a forward dash and ducked just as he reached him, curling an arm around merlin’s waist in a move distinctly not coinciding with standard boxing rules. His weight hauled Merlin against the ropes and Harry backed off through a volley of quick stabs from both of Merlin’s hands, the blows hitting his back and shoulders this time, rather than his head.

 

“And did I not tell you that you were to remain on light duty until you’d healed properly? You’re the biggest hypocrite I know, Harry. Speak what you please, but it’s coming out of your _arse_ , so long as I’m the judge.”

 

Harry continued to scowl and then went at Merlin on the offensive; sharp jabs to his ribs, glancing blows on Merlin’s jaw when Merlin turned his head and almost _danced_ out of range. Harry was growing more frustrated by the minute, each time his blows went wide, or barely hit Merlin at all.

 

Finally, a full eight minutes since they started, Harry crossed his arms over his head in the wordless signal of defeat, and dropped the gloves from his hands. Merlin laughed lightly and set his own down on the canvas as well, then moved in to take Harry’s cheeks in his hands and kiss him lightly. It was all Harry would get while on-duty, but he savoured it all the same.

 

“You’ve bested an old man, Merlin. Does that make you happy?”

 

Another snort. “Hardly. I’ve been keeping up with the recruits and private training elsewhere, so I’ll freely admit that the fight was heavily one-sided before it even began. You're no more an old man than I am.”

 

Harry lifted his hands in a defeated gesture once more, though it accompanied a shrug of very tired shoulders.

 

“All right, all right. I’ll take my things and leave. I can tell when I’ve had enough. Meet me at my flat after you’ve finished up? There’s still enough hours in the evening to celebrate a bit of one-upmanship in style.”

 

Merlin nodded and went to the table to sit down, needing to finish up reports on Eggsy and Charlie’s progress, then file them and head out. He lifted his head to smile as Harry let himself out and then he frowned to himself once Harry was gone. The self-doubt in Harry was actually very subtle this time, but it had been worse in the past few weeks.

 

Much worse.

 

Merlin knew what sort of celebration Harry had in mind, and it certainly didn’t involve boxing gloves and a canvas floor. Aged scotch, sweet dainties, and some sort of strong coffee most likely, along with the promise of an entirely different sort of _spar_ altogether. Harry had taken to asking questions about what he looked like when they were together in bed; was his hair combed enough, did the roll of skin and mediocre flab on his belly bother Merlin too much, or what would Merlin do if one of the new, handsome recruits made a pass at him. Harry had suggested that Merlin take a shot with one of them; 'see if he gives as good as he looks', but Merlin had only growled and changed the subject, finally tiring of Harry's meaningless hate surrounding his age.

Harry wasn't _old_ and neither was he, but Merlin fully intended on bringing the subject up once it was convenient. Self-doubt was an agent-killer, even more so than their enemies.  



	2. Firing Range

Harry’s self-deprecating comments during the boxing match hadn’t been forgotten, exactly; Merlin was adept at gathering information and internally categorizing it, until it could be mulled over and further analyzed at a later date.

 

The ‘later date’ in this particular case, was no more than a month. Now, a month isn’t a very long time at all when it came to Tech department standards. Sometimes, it took an entire month to unscramble encoded data. Sometimes, when Merlin was less cheerful about a certain mission and made the lives of the Tech department staff hell, a month seemed to last _forever_.

 

To a fully-entitled Kingsman agent, a month was a blip on the radar. A whisper of time between missions--or during missions--when a man had to be swift about his duties, yet take the time to enjoy a client or two. Harry had numerous affairs with his clients--or those close to clients, whom he needed to woo for information--and it occasionally took a month worth of ‘random’ encounters in order to not seem suspicious or, heaven forbid, desperate.

 

Needless to say, the month passed by slowly for Merlin as per usual, but he brought the situation up during an afternoon at the firing range, wherein Eggsy was practicing with a high-calibre rifle, Charlie sat silently behind them with his hands between his legs in order to keep them where Merlin could see them--he’d ricocheted a hail of bullets from the back wall, which nearly cost Roxy her left leg--and Roxy herself held a pair of pistols, their barrels pointing downwards as she watched Eggsy try his target.

 

“Keep an eye on Eggsy’s stance, girl. Mind the way he stands with his legs slightly further apart than the width of his shoulders. It stabilizes him in anticipation of the kickback, but also prevents him from tipping in any direction, which would jeopardize the accuracy of his shot.”

 

Roxy nodded and Merlin’s attention turned to Harry, as he took his finger off of the microphone button. Eggsy began firing at the target and Harry’s attention was drawn to him, his pride in the young recruit still showing as brightly as ever. They were protected by a wall of bulletproof security glass and through which, Merlin watched them and recorded his findings on the touch-pad table before him.

 

“So, as you were saying, this belief that you’re an old man now..does it stand to reason that you’re conditioning Eggsy to replace you?”

 

Harry gave Merlin a sour scowl and then rolled his eyes slightly. “Eggsy is being conditioned to become the new Lancelot, Merlin. We’re both aware of this. He and Roxy and Charlie; they all have a chance to become a new, young recruit, who yes, may one day become the new Galahad, should something happen to me and a shift of names become necessary.”

 

“That’s not a ‘no’, you tart.”

 

“It most certainly _is_ a ‘no’. Who are you to doubt my explanation?”

 

“A man old enough to know what a dance party in the eighties entailed, and yet young enough _not_ to know what one in the seventies was like. Unlike yourself.”

 

Harry scoffed and continued to scowl at the seated instructor. “I am _five_ years your senior, Merlin. _Five_. Not ten, not fifteen. I may be old, but I’m not an antique just yet-”

 

“Though you delight in reminding yourself that you are aging, Harry-”

 

Merlin paused for a second and held a hand up to Harry, as he punched the mic button again. “Roxy, try your hand at Eggsy’s target, the same one he just used, and see where your differences lie. Pistol or semi-auto; they should be similar hits.”

 

Roxy nodded and Merlin watched Eggsy move out of her way and stand where she had been, within viewing range of Roxy’s shots but not within kickback distance, then took his hand back off the button.

 

“-you are _not_ some old man slinging bullets and wooing clients simply out of the organization’s pity. If you _were_ too old or too incapable, they’d have pulled you ages ago.”

 

Harry snorted derisively but he didn’t say anything else to the contrary. He knew when Merlin spoke the truth, no matter how much he honestly doubted it. He’d seen the greying of his hair over the past ten years or so, and the felt way his joints ached after a particularly grueling mission. At fifty four, Harry was ancient in terms of the generalized ‘secret service’ agent in, say, MI6 or the CIA, but he wasn’t old by Kingsman standards.

 

Arthur had retired at sixty, but an injury had forced his hand and he was suited well enough to entertaining visiting dignitaries, organizing secretive charity events, and wooing sponsors worldwide. The average Kingsman agent--ones which made it past the age of fifty, anyway--saw casual retirement in or around the age of sixty five. Harry was a long way from being too worn out or degraded physically, but his insecurities ran deeper than simple grey hairs and aching joints.

 

Hearing the praise given by Merlin to the trio of final-recruits, had Harry on edge more than ever.

 

“That’s it, girl! Bring that target here, let me see it.”

 

Harry watched with some apprehension, as Roxy stepped behind the glass shield to hand Merlin the roughly human-shaped paper target. Her shots--save for a single one slightly to the right of one already made by Eggsy--had gone through the same holes. Merlin called up the screenshot of Eggsy’s performance and tapped the large panel to pause the playback, showing what had caused Roxy’s only error.

 

Charlie had stomped his foot on the concrete floor, likely jarring her concentration via vibration from the floor itself. They wore goggles and noise-cancelling headgear, but a small vibration from the floor would work as a minute distraction nonetheless.

 

Merlin scowled at Charlie through the heads-up display and handed the paper back to Roxy, then pointed toward the door.

 

“Roxy, Eggsy; you’re dismissed. Good job, you two. Tomorrow’ll be strength training with the heavier calibre weapons, so get some rest. Charlie; you’ll be in on the same training tomorrow but for now, if you’ll take up the broom and dustpan from the janitor’s closet, I’m tasking you with cleaning up the spent shells from today’s exercise. Get to it.”

 

Eggsy and Roxy smirked but left together after a nod to Merlin and Harry, and Charlie left momentarily to get the items he needed, then started cleaning while pointedly ignoring the men left behind.

 

“Is that it, then?” Harry asked, uncrossing his legs and getting back to his feet, his hands automatically moving to his suit jacket to button it back up. “I’ve seen how talented the recruits are, despite some minor failings, and I’m about ready to pack it in for the night.”

 

Merlin chuckled, flicking a button on the control panel which shut down the heads-up display and the tabletop controls. “I can understand _them_ needing the rest after the work they’d gone through today, but you’ve hardly left the building. There something you’re not telling me, Harry?”

 

Harry rolled his eyes again, a childish gesture but one he used often enough with Merlin that it had begun to be comedic, rather than sarcastic.

 

“I only wish I could tell you, Merlin, that I’m visiting some sweet, young thing on my way home from HQ in the evenings. Be it man or woman, you’ll never know, as I am absolutely _not_ spending time away from anything _other_ than work, because no one in their right mind would give me a second look on the street, so long as I look like some perverted grandfather in a bespoke suit.”

 

It didn’t take Charlie long to tidy the casings and after hanging up the headgear on its hooks, he held the broom up so Merlin could see that he’d finished. Merlin ducked his head around the safety glass and jerked it toward the door, his eyebrows set sourly in place.

 

“Same time tomorrow morning, Charlie. You’re dismissed.”

 

Charlie left and Merlin reached under the control panel to flick another switch; a small black and red button that controlled the security cameras. Necessary when interrogating or recording training sessions, but not for after-hours conversations.

 

“Now that we’re not being recorded; are you fucking _daft_? Is a wire loose in that melon of yours? I don’t know what sort of shite you’ve been telling yourself in the middle of the night, or while you’re standing in front of your mirror bemoaning the loss of your once-chestnut hair, but you’re a fool, Harry Hart. A goddamn fool who’s no less beautiful of a man than you were the day I fucking met you, understand?”

 

Harry’s face went through a volley of emotions normally reserved for a comedy performer’s tragic act; he was concerned, then angry, then surprised. He crossed his arms over his chest defensively but made no other move save breathing. He didn’t like being told he was wrong, even more so than he hated being complimented over something he didn’t find worthy himself.

 

“I..no, Merlin. No, I don’t want to hear this. I’m..I’m going home. Find me there if you wish, but I won’t purposely leave the light on for you. I know you’ve got reports to generate from today’s training and..I’ve got sleep to catch up on.”

 

It wasn’t often that Merlin caught Harry tripping over his own words, but it was a sign that he’d said something Harry had to think about, before he gave his reply. He nodded at Harry and waved toward the door, knowing the truth in Harry’s words. Reports needed filing and a schedule for the following day needed planning. Merlin only wished that Harry stopped hating himself long enough to actually understand the brevity of the situation; insecurities in a position like that of a Kingsman agent, were a poison. A poison often triggered by a traumatic event.

 

\---------------------------------------

 

Months later, Valentine’s bullet came suddenly and unexpectedly, and brought with it a freight train’s worth of energy and pain. It was nearly an instant lights out and though voices were still heard for a few agonizing moments, Harry’s mind was too far into freak-out overload due to pain to actually organize them into coherent words.

 

The response team came for him within an hour and it was only by the skin of his teeth Harry made it to New York HQ alive. The team had him stabilized before the helicopter flight to New York and he was treated as gingerly as a newborn baby for the first day and a half, while his body fought to function. His skull was cracked just above his left eye and due to the bullet glancing off of the specialized material of his glasses, Harry survived without a punctured brain, but was left with cranial bleeding due to the impact of the slowed bullet and the doctors dropped him gently into a medically-induced coma to prevent further damage while he healed.

 

Merlin stayed in the recovery unit for two whole days once Harry was transferred from New York back to the UK. Eggsy was on leave to visit with his family and Roxy went to check on hers, as well, after Valentine’s somewhat-aborted massacre. They all had time to breathe while the world’s remaining governments took charge of their own messes, but Merlin knew that the Kingsman organization would also need to do some housekeeping since the betrayal of Arthur and Eggsy’s spectacular performance against Valentine.

Eggsy returned in a week as the new Galahad, and Roxy as Lancelot a week and a half later. Word of Harry’s death had given the other agents cause to change their line-up, and they had immediately suggested Eggsy take up where Harry left off, much to Eggsy’s dismay. The realization that Harry was actually alive struck no chords within the organization regarding a change back; Harry wanted nothing to do with field work any longer, Eggsy was quite happy with succeeding in becoming an agent, and it was Merlin that was left with the internal mess to clean up.

 

The position of Arthur was offered to Harry three weeks after he woke up from his second coma that year--he’d forever remember  2015 as ‘the year without a summer, fall or winter’--and he resolutely refused it. He was kept in the HQ infirmary indefinitely to ensure he was receiving the proper health care and on Merlin’s suggestion, no weapons were allowed inside Harry’s private quarters.

 

Merlin had no real cause to get angry about Harry’s refusal, but it wasn’t within his nature to keep silent on important matters. He had a lifetime of memories of the job he’d obviously been born to do, and Merlin wasn’t about to jeopardize it by hitting a fellow Kingsman member, but his palms itched when Harry glared at Merlin from the mirror he stood before.

 

Harry’s red dressing down was tied tightly around his body; a body somewhat thinner than it had been, when Harry first went to Kentucky. A body whose owner had a steel plate in his head to stabilize the cracks in his skull, and refused a shave when Merlin had come in with Harry’s kit.

 

“I’m done, Merlin,” Harry growled, his eyes cold and his mouth a solid grimace. “I’ve little to no care what happens to myself, so long as I’m effectively hobbled. Forced from duty because of a blood-fearing madman’s lack of foresight, and brought back to life like some god-forsaken ghoul from one’s nightmares.”

 

Merlin set the shaving kit down on the bed and approached Harry, not touching him but standing close enough that he’d be able to if needed.

 

“You’ve been offered Arthur’s position, Harry. No field work, no dangers, no madmen. Just comfortable dinners, social occasions, and as much footy as you care to watch in between cocktail parties.”

 

Harry whirled on Merlin, his nose wrinkling in anger. He looked like the madman he’d previously admitted to hating, and Merlin was hurt by the sheer magnitude of Harry’s rage. His nostrils were flared and his hair, once cut to a perfect gentleman’s length and styled perfectly, was wild. It needed a cut, but Harry hadn’t let anyone touch him since he’d been able to prove that he could care for himself again.

 

His face likewise needed some tending, but Merlin wasn’t verbalizing it directly. He’d fetched Harry’s kit from his personal locker, but it sat ignored on the bedspread.

“I’m not taking the position of a man over a decade my senior, Merlin. For fuck’s sake; Arthur was a goddamn antique!”

 

Merlin felt the tightening of his guts as he heard the subject of age come up again. So _that_ was it.

 

“The position of Arthur isn’t one of age, Harry. It’s one of _distinguished honour_. An agent doesn’t just hit a certain age and be guaranteed Arthur’s position, you know that.”

 

“I know that I look like a man of seventy and not a man of fifty four, and the very thought of it _sickens_ me, Merlin!”

 

“And the thought of you spending your time standing there in front of the mirror _hating_ yourself, sickens me!”

 

“Then _be_ sickened! You’ve _no_ idea what I’m going through, Merlin. None whatsoever!”

 

Merlin’s heart hurt at the sight of tears in Harry’s eyes, and the overall disheveled look of him was understandably upsetting, but it shouldn’t have been. Harry was in a coma after nearly dying from a gunshot wound to the head. Looking a little bit worse for wear was par for the course, wasn’t it?

 

“Harry, please. Tell me what’s going on in your own words. Not this self-hating tripe you’re spitting. It’s not you, my love.”

 

Harry stopped his rant and took in a sharp breath, tears tracking down his cheeks. He stared wide-eyed from Merlin to his reflection, then back again, his hands clenched into fists that were slowly cramping from the strength of it.

 

Merlin’s right hand had remained out in front of him as a placating gesture but the other was tucked behind him, his fingers resting over the dart gun full of tranquilizer shots that he’d tucked into his waistband before coming back with the shaving kit. Reports had indicated that throughout his wake-up period, Harry had exhibited self-injury by pulling at his hair and purposely refusing food or drink, and Merlin wasn’t taking chances with an actual fist fight if his words angered Harry far enough.

 

“Merlin..” Harry whispered, his feet slowly dragging him close enough to the other man to touch him, both hands clutching lightly at Merlin’s cardigan. “I’m sorry. I’m..not myself. I just..need to lie down, I think.”

 

Merlin got to his feet instantly and gathered Harry up into his arms, bodily hefting Harry up and into the bed so he could lay comfortably. He tucked Harry in and after fetching his clipboard and setting the shaving kit on the sink, he notified a pair of security personnel via text, to monitor the room _and_ Harry’s welfare but not to go inside unless absolutely necessary. The fact that Harry would be under suspicion and was being watched, would likely be received poorly.

 

“There now, you get some more rest, aye? Nothing a bit of shut-eye can’t fix.”

 

Harry smiled wanly at Merlin but then yawned rather suddenly, as if the whole ordeal had tuckered him right out. “Just a few hours, perhaps. I’ll be right as rain, I’m sure.”

 

“‘Course you will,” Merlin agreed, as he bent down to press a firm kiss to Harry’s forehead. “I’ll come back in a few and bring you a nice cuppa.”

 

Harry’s nod was one of complete fatigue and he was asleep within minutes, leaving Merlin to wonder what the hell had gotten into Harry’s head since Valentine had thrown a wrench into Harry’s life.

 


	3. Handling

“It’s been worse since Harry was brought back from Kentucky, and before that it was Tunisia in 2011, but it honestly started right after the death of Lee Unwin in 1997.”

 

Merlin spoke quietly to the woman seated before him, her desk between them. The UK HQ’s psychiatrist and emotional therapist often helped the agents with their PTSD or sudden bouts of emotional distress, but Merlin, no matter how many times he’d seen agents die in the field or gruesome events occur on his monitors, never visited her.

 

She leaned back in her chair and tapped her pen against a notepad, the only words scribbled upon it: ‘Arthur - Hart’, and ‘needs monitoring’.

 

“And had you noticed any sort of age-hating behaviour before that, Merlin? I’m not talking mentions of sore joints or quips about being nearly forty.”

 

Merlin shook his head slowly, trying to remember, but not coming up with a single incident worth mentioning. “No, nothing beyond him telling me he’s ‘too old for this shit’, when he was only poking fun at the difficult situation at hand.”

 

The therapist nodded. “I’m aware of the relationship between you two and the consequences related to it, should Harry become a danger to himself or others, but I’m only going to put in a report for personnel monitoring if you feel it’s necessary. It invades more privacies than the organization does already, but it provides a level of comfort for the spouses of troubled agents, and provides the organization with information, should an agent go..astray.”

 

Merlin felt his chest tighten at that word; _astray_. _//If Harry tries to kill himself when I’m not around, or attacks me in my sleep, you mean.//_

 

“I’ll take it under advisement for now, but keep the file open until further notice. I’m unsure how I’m going to handle this, but I appreciate you listening nonetheless.”

 

The therapist nodded and reached out her hand as Merlin moved to stand, shaking it and letting him leave. As the organization’s agent handler, Merlin dealt with enough garbage and baggage to be weighed down for ten lifetimes, but he never seemed to crack.

 

She knew it was only a matter of time, but it was Harry that concerned her the most. He was a loose screw in a perfected machine and despite Merlin’s suggestion that the request for monitoring be held off, the request was put through on a secure line where Merlin couldn’t access it.

 

Cameras positioned in HQ’s throughout the world were calibrated for Harry’s facial recognition files, and any time he was caught on one he was recorded, voice and all.

 

\---------------------------------

Harry had reported in for duty no more than a week later, and was promptly told that he was still listed as being on medical leave. His files stated that he wasn’t to be given field missions any longer and he was fine with that, but the girl behind the bank of monitors in the briefing division wasn’t pleased with Harry’s response to her referring to him as ‘Arthur’. He’d never stormed out of a briefing room coddling as much rage as he did then, and it was right to Merlin’s stronghold in the Handling wing that Harry was headed.

 

The door to Merlin’s workspace banged open and Harry entered without knocking--something Merlin knew was distinctly un-Harry like--beelining right for Merlin’s desk.

 

“If you think for one single, solitary moment, that I’m going to take up the position of that boorish antique of a man, you’re quite obviously mistaken!”

 

Merlin didn’t fear Harry when he got into a mood, but he _did_ sit back in his chair so that there was at least the width of the desk between them. He leveled a glare on Harry that was normally reserved for childish antics from new recruits, and his tone of voice coincided.

 

“Oh, no. As I told your boy once upon a time; you don’t talk to _me_ like that. If you have a complaint, you come here and whisper it in my ear. I’m no enemy agent upon which you can throw your bloody banter, Harry. I suggest you change your goddamn _tone_ , and take a _fucking_ seat.”

 

“They’re already referring to me as ‘Arthur’!”

 

Merlin tented his fingers and rested his indexes against his lips. “And who are ‘they’, exactly?”

 

Harry made an exasperated sound, then dropped himself into the chair opposite Merlin’s desk, having the wits about him to undo his suit jacket and cross his legs properly.

 

“Briefing! That _girl_ \--the one whose penchant for giving eyes to Percival began an entire month’s worth of workplace harassment complaints--looked me up for my weekly schedule and I was in the system as ‘Arthur’!”

 

“Because you were given the position _posthumously_ due to your dedicated years of service and out of fucking respect, and for which you’ve shown little more than ire. Harry, what’s _actually_ going on?”

 

Harry looked startled, and he sat forward with one arm braced on the arm of the leather chair. “‘Actually’? As if I’m _hiding_ something? Really, Merlin. You know me better than this-”

 

“I know that my dearest friend of thirty years and partner of nineteen, is currently throwing a tantrum about being given a new job position with better pay, less work, less danger, and considerably more perks, simply because he thinks being Arthur means he’s old.”

“I most certainly am _not_ -”

 

“You are!” Merlin bellowed, slapping his hand down on the desk hard enough to jostle his mug and cause a pen to skitter across the blotter. “You’ve been treating yourself like a goddamn old man since the day Lee died, and don’t you _dare_ tell me any differently, because you’d be lying to my bloody face.”

 

Merlin’s face was twisted in anger and he knew better than to yell at Harry, but tiptoeing around things had only made it worse, and Merlin wasn’t about to let his partner waste away.

 

“You’re thinner than I’ve ever seen you. You hardly eat anything and spend mealtimes drinking only tea or worse. It’s easy to keep up appearances by shaving your face or cutting your hair, but when a suit needs to be taken in more than a single size at a time, it’s become noticeable, Harry.”

 

Harry had settled back into the chair and both hands were in his lap, though whether or not he was trying to hide the slimness of his midsection, Merlin wasn’t certain. They couldn’t be together every hour of every day, but reports on Harry’s wellness were commonplace since his incident in Kentucky. Merlin knew what his schedule was like and whom he fraternized with during his time at HQ, but the CCTV recordings of Harry’s comings and goings were still secret even from Merlin.

 

“Where did this self-destructive streak come from?” Merlin asked, softly. He’d run the gamut of his anger with Harry rather quickly, and didn’t wish to spend an afternoon hollering like some street thug.

 

Harry kept his head down, ashamed of himself for being chastised. He knew what humility was and how effective it was of a tool during missions, but there was no duality this time. He was showing Merlin that he was listening.

 

“It started with Lee; you’re right about that.” His voice was small; smaller than Merlin thought it could be. “I was in my thirty eighth year, the day he died. Barely a puddle-jump towards forty, and already I missed a key element during the struggle, capture, and interrogation of The Falcon. A bloody grenade tucked into his trousers..”

 

“I was there, Harry. I watched from the sidelines and didn’t see it, either.”

 

“But you didn’t have to!” Harry blurted out suddenly, his face ruddy as he glared at his lover, his hands now fisted over the armrests as if he were holding on for fear of falling. “I was the agent in charge of the mission! You were only there as the on-site handler because I had James and Lee with me!”

 

Merlin sighed. “Harry, these things _happen_. Men die every day in the line of duty-”

 

“Not on _my_ watch, they don’t!”

 

“Harry-”

 

“No, don’t you ‘Harry’ me! If I’d been a twenty year old man again, it wouldn’t have happened! I’d have had sharper eyes, sharper hearing, better agility so that I’d be able to feel the grenade in his trousers before we tied him up. I checked him over, Merlin! I checked him over myself and fucking missed the mark!”

 

“Harry, do you still blame yourself for Lee’s death?”

 

A slow nod was given as the affirmative, as Harry’s ire fell right out from under himself for a second time. He licked his lips and then wiped the back of his mouth with his hand, another decidedly un-Harry like thing for him to do, especially while in uniform.

 

“And the deaths of all those people in Kentucky. They were viciously cruel, bigoted people, Merlin, but they were innocents in all of this.”

 

“That was Valentine’s doing.”

 

“But if I’d been a stronger man, or not so eager to prove myself as a still-viable member of this organization as I slowly drift past middle age, there would have been better control or no Kingsman agent there at all. I’m a trained killer, and I was beset upon those people like a fox in a chicken coop.”

 

Harry visibly drooped as he explained himself, the CCTV cameras collecting everything and sending it to the investigations unit for further analysis. Merlin pinched the bridge of his nose and then rubbed long, calloused fingers over his eyebrows, trying to waste a few seconds as he processed Harry’s words.

 

“No one blames you for Lee’s death, Harry. Not even Eggsy. Mistakes happen. As for Kentucky, they were poisonous people whose only goals in life included ridiculing and condemning those different from themselves.”

 

“They were still innocent, and if I’d have had the chance to bleed to death in that parking lot before the response team found me in order to pay my dues, I’d have died satisfied with my decision.”

 

Merlin felt his jaw tighten at Harry’s words, and he clenched his fists in his lap or else they would have gone through the desk. It wasn’t self-suicide, but suicide-by-enemy. The reports that came back from Kentucky had shown that the revolver on Harry’s right ankle hadn’t even been removed from its holster, so he’d been armed the moment Valentine shot him.

 

“I’m a poorer man for having heard that, Harry Hart.”

 

Harry balked for a split second when he realized his mistake, his head up and eyes wide as he stared at Merlin’s pained face. He got up immediately and stepped toward the desk, only to have Merlin raise a hand to silently order Harry to a halt.

 

“Merlin, I’m..I don’t know what I’m saying. It’s these medications they have me on for the headaches-”

 

“I suggest that you take immediate leave from my office, _Agent_ , before I’m forced to call security.”

 

“Merlin..you’d call security on me?”

 

There was a pinkish hue starting in Merlin’s eyes, as he fought back the urge to both rage and break into angry tears at his lover’s selfish behaviour. He pointed with the same hand toward the door, feeling the cramp in his other hand where it stayed clenched in his lap.

 

“I’d call them on _me_. Now _get out_.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	4. Couch Surfing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've changed from using italics, to using /this/ type of format for emphasis. I got tired of having to re-do the html when rich-text didn't seem to want to work properly for me.

Despite having separate private houses to use during their off-time, Merlin and Harry normally spent shared nights off together so they could rekindle their romance, or simply waste a night in domestic bliss the likes of which only a pair of men past middle age could.

 

Since the fight two days earlier in Merlin’s work space, Merlin had spent his nights alone in the Research and Development wing of the Kingsman main grounds, where he was trying hard to decode a program their intelligence division had secured from a Russian satellite. It was tiring, boring work; watch the numbers scroll on the screen, highlight oddball pieces of encoded data, cut it from the hardcode and forward it to their codebreakers.

 

Merlin liked doing it as a stress-relieving technique, but he found that he’d only begun to chew his fingernails again and after the fourth cup of tea went cold beside him, he decided to call it quits. Almost forty four sleepless hours and not a word from Harry, though Merlin knew that the other man spent a lot of time at his mews townhouse. 

 

It was very slightly posh, contained all the luxuries Harry needed, and Eggsy spent enough time there to nearly be a permanent resident, so Merlin assumed that Harry had company.

 

Merlin knew that he was a workaholic; it was nothing to go two days without sleep, or take his work home with him and again stay up far too late on his laptop, checking in with agents in the field and tracking the schedules of those ready for deployment. 

 

Harry’s schedule--chosen by Merlin himself for safety’s sake--included two days of off-duty time, though Harry wasn’t to ever see ‘active’ duty again. A bullet to the skull had finalized that decision, and the Scotsman’s signature sealed the deal.

 

Thankfully, his home was somewhat closer to the main headquarters than Harry’s, and Merlin had begged off from the big boss within his first fives years in the organization, in order to have the piece of farmland as his very own. He’d had a house built but it was more a country cottage than a real farm estate, and it looked rustic from the outside. 

 

The similarities to an old moorhouse ended there, however, as he’d had the house fitted with a security system, CCTV cameras in the important areas with the most traffic, and a room dedicated to all of the tech he could smuggle from HQ.

 

Multiple screens lined one wall in the large room, and Merlin often found himself falling asleep in the leather office chair before them. It was like his set-up back at HQ, but Merlin felt safer somehow, in his large but innocuous farmhouse.

 

The Kingsman taxi dropped him off at the end of the laneway and Merlin trotted up toward the house with a shoulderbag clutched to his hip, his eyes on the door as he hurried to reach it before the proximity alarm sounded. It was silent to the approaching party, but rang his mobile phone when tripped, so he didn’t need the damn thing going off in his pocket unnecessarily.

 

He keyed in his code and the door unlocked, letting him into a home he hadn’t seen for three days, which smelled suspiciously like brewed tea. Merlin was instantly on edge and he pulled his pistol from his waistband as he set the shoulder bag on the bench in the foyer, his eyes accustomed to the dark from the walk up the laneway. He knew that he could have left a pot of tea on the counter and what he was smelling was the moldy remnants of a dried, likely-sticky pot of old tea, but it smelled too /fresh/. 

 

He silently took a deep breath and peered around the dark corners into his parlour, and the hallway powder room, and then up the stairs. He didn’t assume that if someone had gotten in, they’d immediately go upstairs, but the tea smell was both distracting /and/ familiar.

 

Deeper down the hallway Merlin heard music playing, and his hackles immediately went up; whoever it was, they were still in the house.

 

He clicked the pistol’s safety off and held his breath again, listening if the intruder heard the noise, before the roar of his own heartbeat would drown out the sound of movement from his livingroom. He licked his lips and peered around the doorway, aware that he was putting himself into danger if there was more than one other person in the house with him, but it boggled his mind that anyone would bother to break into what looked from the country laneway like a boring, old farmhouse.

 

His fingers moved automatically to reset the safety and the pistol was tucked back into his waistband holster without his brain even telling his hands to do it, the second Merlin saw Harry curled up on his couch, a blanket over him and the television playing what looked like a black and white musical. He was asleep from what Merlin could tell, but he approached carefully anyway, as Harry’s behaviour had been erratic and unpredictable as of late, and a knife to the throat wasn’t the welcome home Merlin had in mind.

 

“Look at you, you damn fool,” Merlin whispered, unsure if Harry was even completely asleep but assuming so, since harry would have greeted him upon returning home, right? “Taking up all the space on my couch like some oversized dog. Drinking my tea and leaving my telly on.”

 

The bundle beneath the blankets stirred and Harry turned to look Merlin in the eye, a pained look on his face. He was tired, sleepy, and upset from staying alone in the farmhouse since their argument, but it wasn’t normal for Harry to visit Merlin’s home unannounced, nor was it normal for him to look so /off/.

 

“Merlin?”

 

“Aye, Trouble. It’s me.”

 

“Oh, thank goodness,” Harry said quietly, wincing as he shifted himself to a sitting position, the blanket draped around his shoulders and pooling in his lap. He missed the cheeky nickname entirely, and the miss surprised Merlin considerably. “Thought I was dreaming. Didn’t know if you’d show up since you’ve been working so hard, but I didn’t want to be at my flat alone. This place reminds me of you, even when you’re not in it.”

 

“You daft bugger. Come here.”

 

Merlin dropped himself onto the couch beside harry and gathered the other man into his arms, no longer angry with him for the earlier fight, but still holding the weighty information in his mind for a future chat.

 

“I’ve /been/ working, but it’s no excuse for ignoring you, nor is it proper manners. I should have checked on you.”

 

Harry tensed a little but stayed in Merlin’s embrace, comforted by the man’s scent and proximity.

 

“I’m sorry, too.”

 

Merlin snorted softly. “I want to know, however, what you’ve eaten since breaking into my /very secure/ house, Harry. I noticed the tea, but there’s no dishes about.”

 

Harry let himself rest more fully against Merlin and merely sighed; he didn’t want to lie to the other man, but he also tired of the arguments. “..nothing. Just tea.”

 

Merlin pulled Harry away from himself and gave Harry a firm glare, his hands on Harry’s biceps to hold him up. 

 

“Nothing?! You /are/ daft! If you can keep yourself sitting up, I’m fixing you something right now, and you’re going to fucking eat it whether you want it or not.”

 

His tone left no room for argument and Harry nodded slowly, his head bowed in both upset and shame. He /wanted/ to do better since waking from his coma and going through weeks of gruelling rehabilitation, but Harry just couldn’t find it in himself to tolerate the guilt he felt. He’d killed so many people over the course of his life that it shouldn’t have meant anything, but the people in the church /had/ been innocent, despite their piss-poor social attitudes.

 

Merlin left Harry and went right for the kitchen, firing up the stove and digging out what he could from the fridge. He was home often enough to have groceries on hand, but nothing as nutritious as when he assumed Harry needed. Once he dragged Harry back to HQ in the morning--and he /would/--Harry could be readmitted to the infirmary for what Merlin could see was malnutrition and obvious depression.

 

Eggs were a long-lasting staple and Merlin had plenty of them, along with an unopened package of thick bacon. Bread was in the freezer and he took out a pair of slices to toast, then started on cooking the items that needed it. He wanted something vegetable-based too, but his crisper drawer was pathetically bare--he wasn’t a great lovers of vegetables anyway--so orange juice was substituted in place of another cup of tea.

 

Harry remained sitting up, staring off into space as the television continued to play. It had switched an infomercial of some kind, but Harry either didn’t notice or didn’t care. He turned Merlin’s way when he returned with a tray and a frown; both of which harry didn’t want to see.

 

“Not sure if I’m really up to eating, Merlin. Queasy stomach, I’m afraid.”

 

Merlin dropped back down to the couch and pushed the tray onto Harry’s blanketed lap, the food steaming pleasantly. “You’re going to eat that entire plate, and I’m going to sit here and watch you do it.”

 

“But I-”

 

“But /nothing/,” Merlin growled, checking his anger but only barely. “You’re wasting away right in front of me, and I’m not having it. This..whatever it is..is gonna stop, Harry. I waited too long for you to come back from the dead this time, only to have you die right in front of me by your own hand.”

 

\--------------------------------------

 

Merlin spent the night on the couch with Harry. He didn’t want to drag Harry up to his own bedroom and so long as he had his tablet with him, Merlin didn’t need to leave to keep in touch with HQ.

 

It was a fight to get Harry to tidy himself up just a little and in the end, merlin got into the shower and dragged Harry in with him, giving him a thorough scrub-up and a bit of personal attention that bordered on sexual, but was more romantic and trusting than anything. Merlin didn’t want to take advantage if there was a legitimate mental issue in question.

 

Harry stayed in the clothes he had worn to Merlin’s, and the pair of them took a taxi back to HQ. Harry wouldn’t tell Merlin how he’d even made it to the farmhouse /without/ hailing a Kingsman driver, but so long as he made it and was still alive, Merlin wasn’t going to force the issue. He had a sneaking suspicion that Harry had /walked/ and while not /that/ far, it was still quite a hike in a pair of Oxfords.

 

Merlin let Harry rest against him in the cab--something he seldom allowed, because it was a very outward statement of affection and Merlin was iffy with that sort of thing--and he even turned his head to press a firm kiss to the man’s temple, right over the worst of Harry’s scar tissue.

 

“Please, don’t,” Harry begged, his voice almost a whisper. “It only reminds me that it’s even there.”

 

Merlin rolled his eyes where he thought Harry couldn’t see him doing it, and sighed softly through his nose. “Fine. I apologize for reminding you that you’ve returned to me for a second time this year. If I /had/ hair, it’d be white by now.”

 

“Never. You’d have gone to a stately grey-silver, Merlin,” Harry said, through a tiny smile. “Most Scotsmen go white, due to the latent ginger gene in them, but there’s no ginger in you, is there?”

 

Merlin made a sour face. “None whatsoever.”

 

\---------------------------------------   
  


The doctor employed by Kingsman to remain at HQ for returning, injured agents, met them at the underground parking entrance, where even the taxi driver got out to assist Merlin if he needed it. Merlin shook his head almost imperceptibly and the man got back into the cab to park it in the garage. Nobody would gang up on Harry, but Merlin was sure that Harry’s apparently-altered state of mind would assume as much.

 

“Come along, Arthur. Time to get you somewhere comfortable, so we can take a better look at you, yes?”

 

Harry immediately scowled at the doctor and Merlin only shook his head when Harry looked at him in a very accusatory way. “Behave. I mean it.”

 

Harry sighed like a man asked to give up a limb for a man he didn’t like, and followed along at a lax pace as the group of them moved deeper into the building. He’d spent too much time in the infirmary as it was, and Harry was growing to hate it.

 

“No needles. No medications beyond what they’re already giving me. Merlin, I need to see Eggsy, if you don’t mind.”

 

It was such a strange change of subject that Merlin blinked twice rapidly, then looked to the doctor. Should he allow Eggsy to visit, when they themselves weren’t even sure what Harry’s problem was?

 

“I’ll see what I can do,” Merlin stated simply, helping Harry up into the hospital bed. “Let the doctor handle you first, all right? I’m going to R&D to check in, and then I’ll be back.”

 

Harry’s pinched-up face and furrowed brow had Merlin’s throat feeling particularly tight; Harry looked like a dog being left at the vet, when it knows there’s something really wrong, but its owner is walking away anyway. 

 

“Hurry back..I’m lost without you.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	5. Chile

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because let's face it; Merlin would have been a bad-ass agent even before he headed-up the R&D department. I don't believe for a second that he was hired JUST for a desk-job.

When Merlin was still a field agent, he was ‘top of the class’ when it came to tracking marks and when it came to sharpshooting, the only agent better than he, was Harry.

 

Tracking ‘marks’, or marked persons, was Merlin’s favourite type of mission. His handler, a woman named Guinevere--whose job Merlin took over upon his retirement from field agent status, and his taking over of the R&D department and agent handling--referred to him not by his codename, but by the name ‘Bloodhound’.

 

In the early nineties, it was common for people to be kidnapped and held for ransom in numerous Central and South American countries, and the Kingsman organization was called in by the Chilean secret service--the Pared de Ladrillo, or Brick Walls--to help rescue the Chilean president. Harry, Merlin, and the then-Lancelot traveled down and were captured rather quickly in order to gain access to the kidnapper’s stronghold. Lancelot was left in a cell with Merlin, while Harry--against Merlin’s argument with the kidnapper--was taken to a cell by himself, wherein the kidnapper and his accomplices beat Harry severely for killing one of their men during the initial capture.

 

Merlin went wild in the shared cell and Lancelot could do little to calm him. They could hear Harry’s cries of pain--despite the Kingsman training to keep them moderately silent and to worm their way out of tense situations very much like the kidnapping--and Merlin was having none of it. The men had obviously pegged the trio as government agency specialists or spies of some sort, because they didn’t want to kill any of them; they only wanted information which Harry refused to give.

 

Lancelot broke first and only mentioned the man that had hired them. He was shot in the knee and left to bleed out. Merlin did what he could to staunch the bleeding and then using his own training and a bit of theatrics to make it seem that he was upset over the ‘death’ of his profusely-bleeding colleague, he managed to get ahold of the cell guard’s gun. He shot the man point blank in the face and felt no remorse whatsoever, what with his vision going red around the edges from absolute ire.

 

He picked off five other men surrounding the group of cells leaving only the kidnapper, whose face Merlin hadn’t seen since Lancelot had been shot. The men guarding Harry’s cell were shot between two sets of cells, as they paced in front of Harry’s, the bullets bypassing the layers of steel grating and stone masonry by way of Merlin’s technical knowledge. It was easy to calculate the trajectory when the gun had a crooked sight, and it was even easier for him to hit the men because they paced like cartoon villains.

 

It was agony when Merlin finally stalked down the remainder of the corridor and came upon Harry’s cell. It was as filthy and sparsely decorated as that of he and Lancelot, but there was more blood. He could smell it, which immediately struck him as odd, but it was the smell of infection that was making the blood scent so strong. 

 

He got the cell open and immediately shouldered the gun with its thick, leather strap, giving him both hands to get Harry off of the gritty floor and up over his shoulder. It wasn’t the way an injured man should be carried, mind, but Merlin was desperate to get all three of them out and safe. The corridor was still empty as he hitched Harry up just a little more and Merlin was thankful to any gods listening, that Harry was unconscious. He’d likely lost a lot of blood and the infection would slowly shut his body down as his body tried to heal. 

 

Gunshots from down the corridor turned Merlin’s blood to ice.

 

He couldn’t run with Harry’s weight upon him and he wouldn’t have even if he truly felt he could; Harry was too injured and Merlin may have been doing more damage than good by carrying him at all. Shots caught him about the shoulders and Merlin ducked into a shallow alcove for protection, barely able to cover the pair of them as he tried to hold Harry one handed and sling the gun around to use once again.

 

He managed but only barely, as the shots started getting closer to where he was hiding. He fired off a volley of shots to cover himself and immediately ducked out into the corridor again, rushing for the cell he’d shared with Lancelot. His blood was running hotter and hotter as he got closer, regardless of the icy stab he’d felt earlier, and Merlin lifted the gun one last time to cover himself from the doorway that led right to the cell, and the kidnapper’s face appeared in it, just around the doorjamb.

 

Merlin fired and the kidnapper went down, his head exploding into bloody fragments that littered the ground around them and splashed upon the walls. Merlin thought he’d be sick from the sight of it, the smell of Harry’s infected self riding his shoulder, and the situation they were even in, but he swallowed hard and kept his gorge down, only until he entered the shared cell and saw Lancelot on the ground, quite obviously dead.

 

There wasn’t anything coming up but bile, but Merlin vomited uncontrollably for what felt like hours. When it was only dry heaves and a groan from Harry had him remembering to move, Merlin bolted for the door they’d be led down days earlier and out into the darkness of the Chilean desert.

 

An extraction team found them no less than ten hours later, after tracking Harry via the tracer in his belt buckle. The kidnappers had neglected to strip search any of them but they had removed the shoelaces, belts and suspenders from the other two, leaving Harry with traceable garments as they assaulted him.

 

Merlin collapsed from exhaustion the second a Kingsman team member held a hand to his shoulder, hollering over the sound of the helicopter that they were safe, and he did a good job. He wanted to yell at the man. Wanted to tell him that Lancelot had lost his life because Merlin’s hesitance in gathering Harry up in his injured state cost a few precious minutes. 

 

The flight to Brazil HQ took far too long and Merlin slept the length of it, only waking once he was in a proper hospital bed and his wounds had been cared for. The nursing staff called immediately for the on-site physician and the man warned the groggy Merlin of his pair of broken ribs, severe dehydration, and a laceration above his eyebrow which required stitches.

 

Merlin promptly told the physician to fuck off then hauled himself out of bed, stating that he needed to see Harry. The physician mentioned Lancelot and Merlin felt the red starting at the edges of his vision again, but the man backed off with both hands up as Merlin stood to his full height, despite his broken ribs. 

 

“I was there,” he growled, his tone giving no indication that he was any sort of fellow Kingsman member to the man at that moment. “I saw what happened and I know it’s my fault. Now, if you don’t get yourself out of my goddamn way, I’ll leave you in the same state as the fucker who downed Lancelot. Clear?”

 

The doctor stayed insistent. “Galahad is safe, Merlin. It’s over.”

 

Merlin’s face screwed up into one of defiant fury, his hands clenched into fists at his side. He lifted one to point toward the corridor, where Harry was likely a few doors down in the intensive care unit.

 

“He’s /my/ responsibility. It may be a secret to you because you’re just some peon, hired to work down here in Brazil in /case/ an agent needs to access this particular area, but he’s /all/ I’ve got. I owe him my goddamn /life/.”

 

The doctor backed down once he seemed to get the idea; Merlin wasn’t giving up and what harm could it really do to let him see the other agent? He waved Merlin on and stayed out of his way as Merlin almost ran past him, grunting in pain as he reached for the door and shoved it open. Broken ribs were hell and even breathing hurt, but Merlin could endure. He’d endure to see Harry.

 

To make a very long story short, and to save Merlin the trouble of looking too hard, he checked Harry’s chart to see the list of his injuries and was only mildly surprised to see nothing of any real danger. Harry had been put into an induced coma and he had been treated for malnutrition, dehydration, infection, and had been operated upon only briefly to remove a bit of wood from a wound, where someone had hit him with a blunt, wooden object which splintered upon impact..

 

He sat gently on the edge of the bed and touched Harry’s forehead with a light hand, barely brushing the hair back from his face. The bruises were already starting to yellow in places, and Merlin knew that Harry would be upset that his handsome face was marred at all.

 

“We’re even now, you son of a bitch. Come back to me, understand?”

 

There was only silence save for the beeping of the machines, but Merlin was placated by Harry’s steady breathing and the chirp of the heart monitor; enough so that he drifted off to sleep in the chair beside Harry’s bed.

 

\----------------------------

 

//It was always the same dream//, Merlin thought, as he shook the groggy vestiges of sleep from his mind with a grumble and a pinch to the bridge of his nose. Chile, 1994. The goddamn desert bunker where he’d lost Lancelot and nearly lost Harry.

 

The chair in Harry’s infirmary suite was comfortable, almost criminally so, and Merlin hated that he’d drifted off in it. If he had stayed awake, he could have focused on Harry and simply watching him sleep, and the dream could have been avoided. 

 

Merlin growled softly to himself, angry that his mind kept bringing up the past he wished to forget. He’d had the same dream twice that year already; once when Harry had fallen into a coma after the sudden death of Professor Arnold, then again after Harry’s brush with death in Kentucky. It was obviously a memory tied to Harry’s near-death experiences but why have it again? Harry was alive, and only admitted again to the infirmary for a check-up and an update on his psychological profile.

 

It was obvious to Merlin that Harry was suffering from PTSD, something few agents ever had to deal with. Training the guilt and fear of tragedy /out/ of them was part of their Kingsman lessons, but Harry had nearly /died/, not only witnessed deaths this time. And on top of that, his guilt-center was obviously overactive, as he’d mentioned the severe guilt he felt after killing the church congregation, and his mention of possible suicide had Merlin suspecting the guilt, as well.

 

“Come back to me, understand?” Merlin repeated, for the third time that year alone. “This is just a few tests that need to be administered, all right? I know they’ve got you under just so you can sleep safe and sound, but you’re gonna be a right bastard when you wake up, aren’t you?”

 

\-------------------------------

 

As it turned out, Eggsy was available to see Harry but Harry was still in the induced coma. Eggsy stayed for a short while and asked mundane questions, to which Merlin gave short replies and little to no details. 

 

“He’s gonna be good though, right? Like, there ain’t anything wrong with his head, is there?”

 

“Besides the steel plate and revealing scar? No, Eggsy. Harry’s just..tired. He’s been through a severely traumatic experience and his body is reminding him of it in really terrible ways.”

 

Eggsy gave Merlin a sour look, his lip curled in a bit of a sneer. “You mean like PTSD? They told us about that; the other instructors that weren’t you, that is. We had classes where we had to tell someone our worst fears and then they went and fuckin’ brought them to life. Happens to soldiers an’ shit, right?”

 

Merlin rubbed his eyes and nodded through a yawn, sitting back in the chair beside Harry’s bed with a groan. “Did they not discuss it with you when you were in the Marines?”

 

“Yeah, sure they did, but none of us gave a fuck. We hadn’t /seen/ war, you know? Livin’ in a barracks for trainin’ ain’t nothin’ stressful, an’ we didn’t see anythin’ worth killin’ ourselves over.”

 

“Yes, well, I think I’ve heard enough on this subject,” Merlin announced suddenly, his face telling Eggsy that the boy had outworn his welcome. “Go on back to mission control, Eggsy. From what I understand, there’s an intel job in Morocco with your name on it.”

 

Eggsy rolled his eyes but headed for the door anyway, sarcastically saluting the way Harry had taught him when he was first choosing a shoe. “Galahad is on the job, Merlin. Ta!”

 

“Galahad. Galahad, indeed.”

 

Merlin turned his head quickly enough that his neck popped, earning a rub to it and a groan from the agent handler. “Harry?”

 

Harry barely turned his head and gave a weak nod, his lips smacking as he tried to formulate more words, without much use of his mouth for the better part of 24 hours. He struggled to shift his legs around and then lifted an arm, only to drop it back to the sheets with a light grunt.

 

“Rohypnol?”

 

“Nitrazepam. We needed you very comatose, not just weak and pliable.”

 

“Filthy mouth on you,” Harry managed, coughing lightly and getting a concerned look from Merlin. “I’m fine. Just a little groggy, is all.”

 

“How are you feeling otherwise? Nothing’s been done /to/ you, but there are some tests I’d like to see performed, only to assuade my fears.”

 

“Like I haven’t slept in days, and as if I’m being monitored for some reason /other/ than having a mild case of insomnia.”

 

Merlin frowned. “You slept at my flat with me, then I brought you here, Harry. I want the psych team to do an evaluation on you as soon as possible which incidentally, would be this evening, since you’ve woken up earlier than the med team said you would. They would have done it if you’d returned from Kentucky safely, not on a stretcher and full of extra holes.”

 

“/One/ extra hole, thank you very much.”

 

Merlin actually smiled for the first time in what felt like a year, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

 

“Aye, one hole, but a very big one. Now, are you gonna let them administer the tests in peace? There’ll be questions and reports will be taken from them, but I can be there with you, if you wish.”

 

Harry looked torn; he didn’t want to think about Kentucky anymore, but he also didn’t want to have the guilty feeling of hating himself for it any longer, either.

 

“I do wish, Merlin. I find my tongue is far more loose when you’re around.”

 

Merlin snorted. “A lot more than your /tongue/ is loose when I’m around, usually. But that comes later.”

 

“Filthy, as I said.”

 

“You love it.”

 

“Quite.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	6. Hand-To-Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It all has to end somewhere, doesn't it? (I may continue this verse's storyline elsewhere in the future but for now, this is put to bed.)

Harry was asked the questions that needed to be asked; what sort of sensation did he have, when he felt particularly bad about surviving Kentucky? Why did he think he felt that way? What sort of emotions went through his head, when he was comforted by curious friends and colleagues? It was the last question that had Merlin gripping the arms of the chair at Harry’s bedside, while Harry gritted his teeth hard enough to hurt; how did he feel about being set to permanent desk duty as the organization’s new ‘Arthur’? 

 

Merlin was ready for Harry to blow up but Harry only breathed for a second and stated that it was going to be difficult to adjust to, but it was probably the best place for him. His head wasn’t in the game any longer, and his aging body wouldn’t be for much longer either, so desk duty in a position of responsibility and power such as Arthur’s should suit him fine. Merlin released a breath he didn’t realize he was holding and took Harry’s hand in his own, his eyebrows furrowing into a sympathetic look. 

 

“We’ll do what we can to make the transition as painless as possible.”

 

Harry snorted. “Pain’s something I can handle. It’s the boredom I’m concerned about. Tolerating the pompous delegates, and stuffy investors. Those old men with their billions, funding this place like they’ve got a say in what we do. Hah, self-concerned wind-bags..”

 

Merlin sighed softly and nodded to the therapist and her staff, whose paperwork was gathered up as they made their leave. The answers, findings, and possible predicted outcomes would be filed in Harry’s personnel file, where access could only be granted to the highest authorities within the organization; namely Harry himself, Merlin, the therapist, and whomsoever takes over their positions in the future.

 

“May I get out of bed now, Merlin?” Harry asked sourly, though he was in better spirits after his lengthy, induced nap. “I’ve a cramp in my back and I just want to stand up and walk around a tad.”

 

Merlin got to his feet and stood beside the bed, both hands out for Harry to take--which he did--and Harry stood like a newborn fawn first getting its bearings. Harry groaned as the cramp tightened and then started to loosen, his body straightening up properly. Merlin’s eyebrows relaxed and he let go of Harry’s hands to wind both arms around Harry’s body, hauling him into a firm but cautious hug. He just needed the feeling of Harry in his arms, that was all; warm, and safe, and accepting of the changes, and no longer starving himself or refusing medication as self-punishment for fucking up in Kentucky.

 

Harry stiffened as he was held so firmly but Merlin didn’t crush or demand, giving Harry an out if he really needed it. Harry leaned forward and rested his face against Merlin’s shoulder, taking a deep breath of the clean scent of Merlin’s laundered clothes, and the richness of his aftershave. It smelled like home, and Harry smiled against the soft jumper.

 

“This is counterproductive to my walking around, Merlin,” Harry griped, the smile obvious in his muffled voice. “I’ve a desperate need to piss, and perhaps have something to eat. If we’re to be in close quarters with each other here as well as back home from now on, I’ll need you to not bear hug me every time I stand.”

 

“Shut your gob for just a fucking second and let me have this, you tart,” Merlin scolded. “You’ve done enough damage to give me a heart attack on top of a stroke, so I’d like to enjoy a moment of silence before all hell continues to break loose.”

 

\--------------------------------------

 

It took weeks for Harry to be healthy enough for regular activity again. 

 

He needed to gain some weight back--which Merlin insisted upon--and work on his muscle mass. No strenuous activities for the first few weeks but Merlin had a personal trainer working with Harry in the on-site gym, and then the man also helped Harry with his desk posture and some stretches and light activities he could do while in his--Arthur’s--office.

 

Harry was oddly skittish about being anywhere near the firing range--after being fine with it right after V-Day, though Merlin was sure it had been tooth-gritting tolerance and nothing more--so Merlin allowed him the choice of opting out of therapy sessions surrounding guns of any kind, and it wasn’t a necessity for Harry to use guns any longer anyway, if they were both being honest with themselves. Arthur never went on missions and stood in as the signing authority and figure head only, but he could work on handling duties if necessary, or if Merlin were incapacitated for any reason.

 

It was the hand-to-hand combat that Harry once again showed vague interest in, and Merlin was curious enough about Harry’s ability to tolerate an attacking opponent that he allowed scheduled sparring matches. There were two new agents in HQ and not afield for missions, whom Merlin wanted present to watch Harry fight--Eggsy, newly sworn in as Galahad, and Clifford; red-haired, feisty, and from a very opulent family whose roots were traced back to royalty of Northumbria. He had been given the codename of Bedivere, after the previous Bedivere had died fighting off attackers while on a separate mission in Brazil, when V-Day struck. Training for Clifford had been swift and somewhat less than what Eggsy and Roxy had gone through, but more training came when needed, and he was merely a backup in case of a complete clusterfuck until his training was over.

 

Merlin sat through the first session and was surprised by Harry’s apparent lack of real interest in the proceedings. Harry fought back but there was no skill to it, really. He swung wide and blocked far too often, but Merlin figured that Harry was still sensitive about people being near his injured areas. Instructions had been given to the trainers, detailing spots on Harry to avoid striking if at all possible, but to challenge him in other aspects and strengthen the skills he /could/ work on.

 

The second time, all bets were off.

 

Eggsy sat at the edge of his seat with both hands raised about chest height, his face alight with excitement. He’d seen Harry fight before, and every second of the match was a reminder of that day in the Black Prince. He’d gone on and on about Harry’s fighting skills after becoming a recruit, and Merlin was no less impressed by the change from only a week earlier. Clifford watched with his mouth agape, but he said little. He’d never seen a true Kingsman fight before, and Harry was a work of art.

 

“He ain’t even gettin’ tired,” Eggsy said softly, excited but keeping his voice down out of respect. “Last week he was already callin’ it quits.”

 

Merlin nodded and tapped a finger against his upper lip, his tablet in his lap as the other hand skimmed over it, entering calculations and running projections of Harry’s performance into the system. It was definitely a change, and Merlin wasn’t entirely sure what had caused it. Traumatic brain injuries were sometimes fickle things; a person could be a vegetable for the rest of their lives, or they could go on normally, as if nothing had happened at all. Or occasionally, as with Harry, the injury could be detrimental in the beginning and then switch very suddenly back to the patient’s ‘normal’.

 

“He’s magnificent.”

 

Both Merlin and Eggsy turned to Clifford, whose eyes were wide as he watched Harry, and he was smiling broadly. The pair shared a look of mutual amusement and then turned their gaze back to Harry as well, eager to see the fight continue.

 

Harry fought as if he were trying to prove a point, but without the recklessness he’d shown in previous weeks. The trainer kept up but the man had begun to sweat; something Merlin had never seen before. There were small sounds coming from Harry--grunts, huffs of air, deep breaths as he dodged the strikes from the trainer and swung his umbrella with practiced ease. The umbrella was a standard one without the technical elements added, and Merlin was glad for it. The trainer seemed to be struggling as it was, and Harry wasn’t even armed with any actual firepower.

 

The smooth way Harry ducked punches and dodged around both high and low hits gave Clifford and Eggsy an idea of how smooth their own movements could be, but Merlin knew that it was simply one hundred percent Harry Hart shining through. He’d been proficient of a fighter before he’d even joined Kingsman, but it was mainly boxing and bare-knuckle fighting as most English boys tended to favour. Harry was a ‘dodger’; he used his opponent’s weight and momentum to his advantage, and often won fights without swinging a single punch of his own.

 

The fight was over the second Harry disarmed the trainer, the man’s baton skittering across the practice mat to thunk against the wall with a satisfying sound. The trainer was on his back with Harry’s foot against his throat, one arm twisted in an unnatural angle and the trainer’s other hand slapping the mat in defeat. Harry relinquished his hold rather quickly and gave the trainer a light Englishman’s bow, then turned to his audience with a twirl of the umbrella.

 

“Well?”

 

“‘Well’, fucking what? You were amazin’, Harry,” Eggsy immediately cut in. “That spin thing you did, where you had him under the jaw but you didn’t let go ‘til he was almost bent in half; the fuck /was/ that? Never seen that kinda move before, and I seen some nasty fuckin’ fightin’ goin’ on in some nasty fuckin’ places.”

 

Harry frowned and gave Eggsy a rather sour look. “Language, my boy. Clean it up a little and bring it back to me /sans/ expletives.”

 

Eggsy sighed and rolled his eyes. “You looked really ace.”

 

“Much appreciated. Now if you boys don’t mind, I believe Merlin has some specs he wishes to go over. Run along; there’s promising things in it for you, if you can both find something to do to occupy yourselves elsewhere. Matthew; thank you for the lesson.”

 

Eggsy rolled his eyes again and took Clifford by the arm while the trainer gathered his things and left separately, hauling him to his feet and leaving with Clifford in tow. Merlin’s eyes immediately went to Harry’s face, trying to gauge whether or not Harry was injured and hurting but putting up a front, or if he was actually, really all right.

 

“No pain?” Merlin asked tentatively.

 

Harry shook his head, the motion causing his loose hair to bounce. The curls had started coming back in the second Harry neglected to slick them down with product, and Merlin loved it. They were no longer their youthful auburn hue, but Merlin didn’t care if Harry’s hair turned completely white; he loved the curls more than seemed normal.

 

“No pain, save for my right foot. Bastard thumped me as if it were going to stop my advance, and I used it as a pivot point instead. Whirled his own trick back upon him. Now /that’s/ talent.”

 

Merlin snorted at Harry’s pride and leaned in to press a light kiss to his cheek, keeping it chaste in case Harry didn’t wish to continue. Their relationship had seen some terrible times over the previous few months, and Merlin was hesitant in all things romantic, just in case. Harry smiled and returned the gesture, leaving Merlin as surprised as ever.

 

Perhaps Harry was healing properly this time.

 

\-----------------------------------------------------

 

Merlin was a man that asked questions.

 

He knew when to ask the right ones and he knew when to ask the wrong ones, but Merlin was also a man with intuitive senses far beyond that of any standard agent, Kingsman or otherwise. No MI6 agent had ever outsmarted him, nor had any related to Mossad or Beijing. His position of the Kingsman organization’s ‘magician’ was steadfast, and Merlin delighted in being thought of as such.

 

Merlin also knew when to avoid questions entirely, and to let a scene play out naturally. It was sometimes while handling that he allowed things to play through, but he was surprised to find that it was best employed while in a situation such as the one he currently found himself in; nude, warm beneath the covers, and still somewhat dopey from sleep, with Harry under the blankets paying worship to Merlin’s cock as if it were some holy relic.

 

He was barely even breathing, let alone saying anything. A single word could break the spell, and Merlin knew just as well as any doctor that giving head wasn’t about to harm Harry’s tender psyche in any way. He licked his lips and then let his legs fall away from each other just a hair further, parting them to allow Harry more room to explore should he feel the need to.

 

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Merlin whispered, his eyes falling closed as he relaxed a little more against the pillows. He wanted to say more, but the barest grunts and voiceless curses came instead, the handler mouthing filth into the silent room.

 

Keeping silent was maddening and Merlin finally peeled the covers back to take a decent look at what Harry was up to--as if it weren’t fucking obvious--only to feel his cock give a firm throb at the sight of Harry’s wide eyes, as if he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t have. He didn’t stop and Merlin gave a tiny roll of his hips along with a smile, pleased to see a distorted smile where Harry grinned around his mouthful.

 

“Gonna be the death of me, you are.”

 

Harry’s reply was a bob of his head and a wriggle of tongue, earning a groan from merlin and the letting go of the bedsheets, so Merlin could throw that arm across his face. He wanted to /see/ Harry working away at him, but he also /didn’t/ want to see, and simply /feel/ instead. He gave a half-hearted chuckle as Harry shouldered Merlin’s legs further apart and then went down completely upon him, forcing Merlin to hold still so he didn’t choke Harry, and forcing Harry to hold his position in case Merlin couldn’t keep himself in check.

 

“Don’t you fuckin’- don’t you stop, you bastard,” Merlin swore, lifting his head again as he groaned deeply, the throaty sound loud in the otherwise-silent bedroom. “Swallow just a little. Squeeze me, goddammit.”

 

He gave a slightly pained sound and a jerk of his hips before panting open-mouthed, his head falling back against the pillows. Harry had swallowed around him as instructed, but he’d dragged his teeth the way he knew Merlin liked, but would never really ask for. A firm squeeze from the hand holding him had Merlin’s back arching, then he went tight as a bowstring when Harry began to bob once more, this time with fervor.

 

“Goddamn saucy /tart/, you’re in for a treat, aren’t you? Get it, Harry. It’s all yours. Right down to the very last fuckin’ drop.”

 

Merlin’s roar as he climaxed was primal and Harry stuttered only once while swallowing down what Merlin was giving him, as he came quite suddenly himself. Harry had been rubbing himself nonchalantly against the bed while servicing Merlin and hearing the handler’s sounds had pushed him over, soiling his pajama bottoms though it hardly mattered. he could change out of them and have a quick wash-up before falling back to sleep, provided Merlin allowed him to.

 

Merlin’s hands came down to Harry’s head and only one carded through the unruly curls; the left, against harry’s right temple. He brushed the soft hair back gently, as if petting a skittish animal, and the dopey smile on his face had Harry smiling right back. Harry was sticky and slightly uncomfortable but if Merlin had asked him to jog a mile in his soiled bottoms, he would have.

 

“Best way of waking up isn’t some bloody coffee brand. It’s finding you under the covers, acting the way you did when you were thirty. This mean you’re feeling better still?”

 

Harry climbed lazily along Merlin’s body and ignoring the mess in his bottoms, poured himself along Merlin’s left side, so he could rest his head over the handler’s shoulder and cling to him for warmth. Merlin hauled the blankets back up to cover them and curled an arm around Harry’s shoulders, giving him a firm squeeze before pecking him lightly in the hair with a soft kiss. Merlin may be a hard ass when it came to training, but Harry had him firmly tucked beneath his thumb.

 

“Better than I have been, yes. The training has been letting me release pent-up issues, and having regular chats with Eggsy and Clifford have been helping, as well. Plus there’s therapy and the doctor’s visits that while necessary and important, are still my most hated moments of the week. When will they end?”

 

Merlin huffed, burying his nose in Harry’s curls to simply snuffle around in a childish undignified sort of way. “When you’re comfortable enough in your own head to have conversations about V-Day, and you’ve gained one, to one and a half stone. You had a lovely little belly on you back in the 90’s, from what I can recall.”

 

“Lovely little- I was fat, Merlin. That wasn’t a comfortable place to be in. I did well on missions that required sexual favours, yes, but having yourself and the other agents refer to it as ‘cushiony love’ was very detrimental, you know.”

 

Merlin chuckled through his nose, never leaving the softness of Harry’s hair, even to speak. “One and a half stone, sweetheart,” Merlin cooed, cuddling Harry a little more firmly against himself. “Twenty one pounds, as the Americans would call it. It’ll put you back at a healthy weight for proper training, and maybe I could even swing you for some handling duties, hm? Let you cover for Gwen when she goes on vacation.”

 

It was a stretch, and a long way from being an active field agent, but Merlin had made peace with the fact that Harry would likely fight tooth and nail for some sort of mission attachment. Handling offered it and with Harry’s extensive on-site mission knowledge, he could be a very successful handler.

 

“All right, all right, if you insist. I’m sure I’ll grow bored enough of the paperwork and lunch meetings with the investors to grow sedentary and thus gain a stone plus, but the handling could actually be entertaining enough to hold my attention. Let me try it out for a few days, then I’ll let you know whether or not it suits me.”

 

“Deal. Now get your arse out of bed and have a nice hot shower. I know for a fact that your bottoms are sticking to you, because I can smell your mess on you. Go on.”

 

Harry scowled but shifted to get up anyway, feeling like a sour old man with a mess in his drawers. “Come in with me.”

 

“I’m comfortable, thank you very much. Warm, satisfied, and ready for a cup of coffee and maybe a scone.”

 

“..we’re short on scones, I’m afraid.”

 

Merlin sat up on his elbows, a suspicious look on his handsome face. “There were seven of them two days ago. I counted, because I’ve been a bit judgey on the amounts of food you’ve been eating.”

 

“I’m aware,” Harry sneered, not angry, but feigning nonchalance for show. “They’ve mysteriously vanished.”

 

“Into the Hart void?”

 

“My black hole, so to speak. Yes.”

 

“Good /god/, Harry. You’ll gave two stone before I can catch up with you, then you /will/ be buggered. Go have your fucking shower, you scone hog.”

 

“At least I’m not a coffee brute.”

 

“GO.”

 

Harry chuckled all the way to the bathroom, avoided looking at himself in the mirror as per usual, and got into the shower, in far better spirits than he had been for a very long time. Merlin would have to work a bit harder on some of the smaller kinks Harry had to be worked out, but persistence was one of Merlin’s best descriptors.

  
  


 

 

  
  


 

 


End file.
